The dusk was like a piece of red-hot iron slowly sinking into the somewhat murky canal of Traveling Thrush Royal City, steaming up a thin mist woven from steam and coal smoke.
The damp moisture mingled with the cheerful evening breeze, wafting from the river surface dyed crimson by the afterglow, brushing past the bustling piers, sweeping over the bustling streets, tumbling into the fruit and vegetable market behind Bridge Street, playfully moistening the hem of women's plain white skirts.
"Anna?"
The fish stall owner, wearing a rubber apron, caught a familiar glimpse of a white skirt at the corner of his eye, and his eyes lit up, abandoning a customer still haggling fiercely, he leaned over and called out loudly:
"Here! Over here!"
